


Death Wish

by oathkeptroxas



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Arrow - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on Celtic Folklore, Based on Welsh Folklore, Creature!Jason, Discussions of Drug Abuse & Overdose, Forbidden Love, Mild Horror, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkeptroxas/pseuds/oathkeptroxas
Summary: Loosely based on the Welsh folklore of gwarch-y-rhibyn (witch of death/death witch).The powers that be are not impressed with a certain death witch. He just can't seem to do it, for the first time in his existence, Jay has found a life he just can't take.





	Death Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonbinaryxion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinaryxion/gifts).



> Yo, I bought a book on Welsh folklore and then I sneezed this out in an attempt to actually contribute to JayRoy week. So, this isn't my best and you'd be better off seeking out the other, better executed AUs I've done.

_ "I need you to stop,  _

_ insisting that I'm not, _

_ a lost cause." _

**Rose Colored Boy - Paramore.**

* * *

 

A storm was howling overhead, the city’s people were taking any shelter they could from the onslaught. There was a dive bar in a rundown corner of Star City, full of drunks and criminals. It's a place where anything goes, where it doesn’t matter if your ID is fake as long as your money isn't.

 

On a dreary night like this, it was even more packed than usual. It was the second weekend of the month: live music night; the bands always brought in a crowd. The musicians were on a first name basis with the bar manager, and he was grateful for the money they brought in, more than willing to accommodate them however necessary. It’s really no wonder that Roy Harper, teenage drummer of Great Frog, was getting his fix in the empty apartment upstairs.

 

But this wasn’t any ordinary drug binge, this wasn’t a post-gig celebration. Objectively, maybe things had been headed this way for a long time. Roy’s life had become a swirling vortex of self-destructive behaviour and bad decisions. He was growing increasingly depressed, overwhelmed by negative emotion and all the things he didn’t have in his life. 

 

The drugs had started recreationally, but quickly became more than simple indulgence, it became a vice, a necessity, a means of self-medicating. He needed to numb all the bad. Often, he thought about death, usually as an abstract concept, usually in the way that people become aware of their mortality when flirting with danger. But, sometimes, it went deeper. Sometimes, he yearned for a way out, of everything, and this night was looking promising.

 

In the prior weeks, he’d been overcome with the feeling of being watched. He felt eyes on him, prickling sensations on the nape of his neck, gooseflesh blossomed up the lengths of his arms. He even swore sometimes he could spot grotesque silhouettes in his peripheral, a watcher in the wings. But, despite this, he knew that paranoia and hallucinations were well known side-effects of just a couple of the many substances he’d been abusing. After so long of working so hard to keep his secrets bottled up, he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself, and spoke not a word of his presumed delusions. Still, he felt that he was never alone.

 

So, on this stormy night, he was sprawled across a ratty couch in a vacant apartment, the bar manager below was the only one who knew where he was and what he was doing. The belt was still tight around his bicep, the needle had clattered to the floorboards. He was barely conscious, the copious amounts of alcohol had made him drowsy before he’d even headed up the stairs. The music from the bar below was muted, the vibrations were buzzing through the whole room. Roy was lucid. 

 

He saw a figure then, as if it appeared and took form from the shadows in the corners of the dimly lit space. He recognized it immediately as the being that he had felt watching him, and seemed to know that they both had been counting down to his final hour. If the creature were granting Roy the opportunity to see it in its glory, and not just blink-and-miss-it glances from the corner of his eyes, then it stood to reason that his time had come. Roy wanted to ask why it hadn’t taken him sooner, he’d certainly given it ample openings to do so.

The shadowy figure began to unfold, standing to it’s full height, and it’s wings protruded out and upwards from it’s back before curving back down and sweeping to behind it’s knees. It appeared to be male, broad-shouldered and strong-jawed. It’s wings were large, charcoal and menacing, with a worn leather like appearance that almost had Roy wanting to reach out and see if the texture matched. The monster, or rather,  _ man _ \- Roy blinked to try and clear his vision and he could see that the man appeared his own age, striking features, a sickly green tint to his skin in the light, his eyes an ominous crimson, a white tuft in the front of his hair - opened his mouth and let out a yowl so screeching, so eery that Roy could do little more than cringe.

 

Knowing that his time was up, and having been mentally contemplating it for some time regardless - what kind of life was he living anyway? There was nothing left for him - Roy reached his arms up feebly, the pull of the belt around his arm barely registered. Roy’s fingers were outstretched, and flexed as if beckoning the creature forward. If this was his death, then Roy would embrace it. He waited for the man to step forward, wondering briefly if it would be painful. The stranger’s face softened, became almost fond, nearly remorseful. Roy didn’t understand what that meant, wondering if the man had an opinion of him at all, considering he’d clearly been following him for some time and seen him at his worst. Roy couldn’t understand why there wasn’t any fear in him, he felt an unbelievable calm.

 

Roy blinked and the figure was gone, so was the belt around his bicep, the needle from the floor, the baggie that had been beside it. All evidence of what had transpired - save for Roy himself - had been wiped in a millisecond, and Roy felt stronger than he had in quite some time. He wondered if he’d been sleeping, that the whole experience had been but a dream. Without speaking a word to anyone, Roy left the building and returned home quickly.

 

The next morning dawned bright and promising. The overnight storm had cleared the air for warmer weather to come. Roy seemed to know that he had dodged a bullet, but he couldn’t seem to recall the exact events that had transpired. He remembered the feelings, the sensations, the knowledge that he was confronting death, but the details were gone, as though wiped. Word on the street, and in his social circles, travelled fast. There would be no more drunken binges at his favourite dive bar. The manager had dropped dead during the night, his body found on the floor amongst the shattered glass and the booze. But, he had no wounds, no physical or visible contributors to his demise. He was alive, and then he just wasn’t. Roy felt that he may have understood why.

 

The powers that be were not happy with Jay. He’d cheated death himself by joining the ranks, reaping souls and filling his quota, but he’d never had a charge like Roy Harper before. There was a sadness in the boy’s eyes, a sequence of events that had led to the life he lived that were not entirely - if at all - his fault. He saw how Roy’s father cast him aside, how Roy found solace in the way he abused his body, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of his own mother. He saw the frailty, the hopeless of addiction all over again. It was a whole other lifetime, a different existence, it shouldn’t still hurt. 

 

Roy’s auburn hair had curled and stuck to his nape with sweat as he threw his head back during a set, his grip on the drumsticks had never faltered as he lost himself to the music. Jay had been captivated. There was so much wasted potential in this boy, Jay didn’t want to snuff out his light, couldn’t bring himself to. There were half a dozen people who lay dead in Roy’s place. All of which were people who were poison, toxic and thick like tar inside, they could never compare to Roy’s light. Jay knew that their souls were worth a lot less than that of the boy he was sent after, as immoral as they were. But, every time he thought he could do it - it was his job after all - he found himself wailing. 

 

Just thinking about the way that Roy had reached for him, as though he were a lost lover, teared at Jay’s insides. He was supposed to be above this, above superficial human affections. The powers that be were not impressed, and Jay’s very existence was on the line, even still, he could not reap Roy Harper. The banishment he received for his disloyalty was an act of great mercy. Condemned to live the rest of his life as a human, no longer immortal, no longer immune to ailments, Jay also knew that he couldn’t transfer Roy’s life-span any longer.

 

If Roy got to that place again, if he ever came so close to the finish line, Jay’s replacement wouldn’t hesitate, and Jay would be powerless to stop it. With the feelings festering and growing ever stronger within him, now his newly granted human soul could really experience and comprehend them, Jay knew above all else that he couldn’t bare to have Roy die.

 

It began as a simple affair. Jay posted a leaflet for a support group under Roy’s door. And Roy, armed with the knowledge that he’d narrowly escaped death, was compelled by this apparent second chance. Jay began work at the coffee shop across the street from where Roy’s meetings were held, and waited.

 

Roy would come in, emotionally drained, but blessedly sober. Jay would serve him coffee, with vanilla syrup and perhaps too much sugar. They exchanged idol chit-chat. Jay would never forget how it felt the first time he heard Roy speak his name. It was still jarring to catch his reflection from time to time, Jay missed his wings, his eyes, his old self and the fear he had been able to instill in others, but more than anything he believed that Roy was worth it. When Roy left his phone number scribbled on a napkin, Jay felt that he might burst.

 

Roy was flourishing, could scarcely remember how he’d ever felt so low in the first place. His boyfriend made him so happy, and for the first time in a long time Roy believed he could build himself a future, that a life for himself was possible. When Jay pressed a kiss to Roy’s forehead and then brushed their noses together, he whispered, “I would never let anything happen to you.”

 

Roy saw constellations in his eyes and never doubted a word Jay said. He felt reborn. That night when they crawled into bed, Jay kissed him goodnight before turn his back. Roy reached to turn the bedside lamp off before he settled down to sleep, but caught sight of something in his peripheral. With a gasp he drew away, his wide eyes focusing intensely on the large, thick scars on Jay’s back, like raised welts that curved beneath his shoulder blades, unlike anything Roy had ever seen before. Whatever had caused the marks must have been excruciating, and without conscious thought Roy found himself reaching out, his fingers flexing to caress the scars. They were leathery to the touch.


End file.
